


Working Theory

by maximum_overboner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Body Worship, Dry Humping, F/M, PWP, Pining, Sex fights! Fights... in sex!, Smut, Sub Black Hat, all consensual, black hat foaming at the mouth over how much he loves women, half-clothed sex, if you've ever thought 'hm. black hat needs to be bullied but in like. a sexy way.' i have good news, just straight up pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Black Hat suspects that humanity's disgusting notion of 'love' is a self-perpetuating excuse for procreation; for artless, soulless, primitive sex.But if that's the case then what, exactly, is the harm in indulging Dementia?





	Working Theory

**Author's Note:**

> if you thought i'd let little canon factoids like 'black hat FUCKS' and 'black hat is a serial womanizer' pass me by unscathed you are not just a fool but FOOL SUPREME, KING OF THE FOOLS!

Love was a great good. 

It sold at a premium.

Black Hat, for all his faults, was at least blunt. “I can’t make someone love you.”

And they, dozens of them and growing every year, all said the same thing. “Can’t you try?”

“It can’t be done,” Black Hat said, simply. “It’s not in my power. I can make them pretend, certainly. Surely that’s good enough?” 

He would be met with outrage. It was intolerable, it was evil, what he was suggesting, and they would never dare do something so horrible to the person they loved most in all the world because it was usually out of their price range. Black Hat would sigh, shrug and show them the door. He couldn’t claim to understand love, or any emotion beyond the primitive. But the point of love was access to sex, wasn’t it? Favours, gifts, the biological imperative to procreate, a societal justification? 

He had theories. He once asked Flug, in a probing, scientific manner, and was met with some stammered half-explanation that got him nowhere. 

Couples often shopped together. He didn’t understand it. A business partnership was one thing, but tying assets to a relationship or, God forbid, a _marriage,_ was insanity. Time and time again it was long, cloying looks in his office. Then some disaster down the line, sprawled all over his newspaper in lurid, sticky detail. People dedicated to ruining the lives of others weren’t typically happy and well-adjusted. 

He didn’t understand it. Love. What a terrible, self-sabotaging thing. Absolute devotion to someone that wasn’t you, or your interests, or your life or happiness. It was sick, and it was sad, and he saw it destroy perfectly reputable bastards. He didn’t understand those looks. The sugared looks that made his stomachs turn.

But the looks that came _after,_ at breasts that weighed down the neckline of fine dresses, at the belt of muscle on the hip of a man... 

Black Hat bit his lip. He cursed, dabbing the blood with a handkerchief and slipping it into his front pocket. “Blasted teeth...”

He thought back to his last encounter. A curt glance in the dockyard, meeting a particularly attractive client. Three or four months ago. 

Sex was ephemeral. Like the trinkets he liked to collect. A means to decorate his life, something to look back on, often with a wry, half-there smile, a fond sigh and an interesting story. Tempting the faithful into torrid affairs. Accidentally starting a small war after sleeping with the duke’s wife, then his brother, then his wife again. Wooing with a kind word, as kind as he could manage, and a flash of teeth. His victories earned fairly and his losses taken well. But, while he was content to sequester the activity away with his more ‘refined’ pursuits, snuggled between the art and the music, he was still a slave to his biology. Sometimes it wasn’t a good story, or a coy anecdote, or about exploring the relationship between sex and death, or something transcendental. He was an animal, too. And sometimes he wanted to bend something over, grip it by the fat and fuck himself dry. 

Four months! What was he, dead? He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Saltwater air and scraping his thighs on the stone of the wall. He couldn’t concentrate.

If love was, deep down, something people made up amongst themselves to justify the propagation of their species, a sort of collective biological hallucination...

Black Hat unlocked the door and set off down the hall, leaving his work behind. He found her in the south wing of the house. 

Dementia struggled to reach something on a high shelf. She grunted, stamped her foot, braced her shoe to the wallpaper and hoisted herself up. She grabbed the book, kicked back and landed with a thud. Black Hat couldn’t see her smiling, but he could sense it. She wasn’t performing for him, stretching or posing to make herself more ‘alluring’ to his eye. Puffing out her chest, bending over at ‘inconvenient’ moments, stirring base, easy-to-ignore embers. For the first time, he found himself sincerely attracted to her. A fire roared in his gut.

He didn’t mean to be quiet. It was a habit of his.

Black Hat, softly, brushed a long strand of hair from the nape of her neck. 

In a flash, she spun, gripped his wrist and broke it. She snarled like an animal, but it fell from her face when she recognized Black Hat. She covered her mouth, pawing at his shattered wrist with her free hand. “Oh, Jesus,” she said, “it’s just you. I’m so, so sorry, you really caught me off-guard. Are you hurt?”

“Hmph.” Black Hat fixed his wrist with a grim, wet snap. 

“That looks pretty bad.”

“No,” he said, baring it, “it doesn’t. You can’t hurt me. Don’t flatter yourself. And...” 

Black Hat grumbled, but he came out with it.

“Don’t apologize, either,” he said. “I was the one imposing.”

She lit up. “What were you doing, anyway?”

Black Hat followed another unruly strand of hair with his fingertips, looking her in the eye. She remained perfectly still, perfectly quiet. It was just their breathing, the low static crunch of hair on hair, and the tick of a distant clock. He gingerly cupped her face. Her eyes fluttered and she leaned into it, bracing her hand over his. She was mercifully quiet. Black Hat could smell her make-up. His other hand drifted down the ridge of her spine to her skirt. He reached under, feeling the warmth of her inner thigh and the coarse fabric of her stockings. One hand stroking her leg, the other pawing at her ass. Black Hat’s breathing was laboured.

“Finally come around?”

“I won’t give you the satisfaction of an answer.”

She parted her legs, drawing him up the muscle of her thigh. He palmed at her cunt, feeling the hard bump of a piercing in her underwear. Her mouth was by his tympanum, magnanimous in victory. Black Hat almost wanted her to gloat in the hope that this wasn’t some foregone conclusion, to make her self-satisfaction a touch more palatable. “You don’t think this is an answer?” 

“Shut up,” he grunted.

“No. You’re hard.”

He pressed his hips forward. She was warm. Unbearably warm, even under the fabric. He pulled her leg up, hooking it around his waist. He wished he had the self-control to stop. He wished he had any self-control at all. “Shut up.” 

“You’re not gonna cum in your pants, are you? That’d be embarrassing.”

He hissed. “Shut up. Shut up.”

She stuck her tongue out. She tightened her grip and squeezed. She moved against him, slowly. Up. Down. Up.

Down.

Black Hat reared back, gasping and pulling her hips. “Slow down.” 

“No.” 

“If you don’t, we won’t get anywhere. Slow down.”

“Hm. Nope!” 

Harder. Harder. Black Hat felt something white-hot rise in him. She moved faster. Harder. Harder. 

“You look so cute like this.”

Harder. Faster. _Harder._

Black Hat wrenched her leg from around his body and braced his hand to the stand under her. His cock throbbed in his trousers. Dementia flicked the tip with her fingers, laughing. “You really are gonna cum in your pants! That’s hilarious.”

“If you’re so dedicated to masturbating,” he panted, shaking, “I’ll just leave.”

“No,” she chirped. She unzipped her top, revealing milky, unblemished breasts in a tight bra. “No, you won’t.”

“No,” Black Hat said, staring. He tossed aside his gloves, his pretence and his dignity. His voice was thin. “I... I won’t, no.”

“Good boy! Good Hatty!”

This was humiliating. Dementia’s crowing and his complete willingness to ignore it. He ogled her tits again. He groped. The feeling wasn’t subsiding. “I could kill you.”

“If you’re gonna,” she replied, full of cheer, “now is a perfect time. Look, my guard’s down and everything.”

Black Hat growled, his lips flaring. Dementia planted a kiss on them. He was too beaten-down to continue his posturing. He sighed. 

“Wanna do it here?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s a guest bedroom down the hall. It will suit our purposes.”

“'Suit our purposes’. You don’t have to be so formal!”

“Hurry up, I’m already regretting this.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going. Shall we?”

“No.”

“If you don’t, I’ll just leave.”

Black Hat wondered if he was, truly, this desperate. Before he could think, he held his arm out. She took it. They walked down the hall together, arms linked. Then they walked briskly. Then Black Hat hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and moved with supernatural speed, kicking the door open and pushing her at the bed. She stumbled, kicked off her shoes and tossed her skirt aside as Black Hat worked on shedding as many layers of clothes as possible. She threw herself at him, pulling him into a hard, passionate kiss. He kissed her back, lacking any affection and using the motion to heighten his high. He still had a shoe on. He shoved her towards the bed again. She laughed, gripped him, spun him around and pushed him back. Black Hat fell onto the bed, jostling the pillows with a comical puff. “... I’m sorry, did you just fucking push me?” 

Dementia scampered on top of him, dragging his cock against her underwear.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “You like it?”

Black Hat lay there, so affronted he couldn’t make an accurate judgement about his tastes. This whore had the nerve to shove him! Him! He was the only one that was allowed to do any shoving, those were the rules!

Dementia gripped his hands and wrenched them above his head, pinning him. She pushed against him, working his cock with the wet fabric of her underwear. He looked up at her wrists, that he could shatter in an instant, and faltered again in the face of her gall. _“Excuse _me?”

“You’re excused. You like being pushed around, huh? Aww, are you that weak for a pretty girl?” she teased.

“You have some nerve,” Black Hat spat, “how dare you—”

She pulled his cock out. She laid it flat against his abdomen, pulled her underwear aside and sat on it. Black Hat made a choking noise.

“Sorry,” she drawled, her eyes lidded. “I... I kind of tuned you out. What did you say?” 

Black Hat swept his leg, kicking her off and sending her careening onto the floor with a thud. He moved, like smoke, on top of her, reversing their positions. She looked at him with devilish glee and he, caught in the thrill of a good fight, bared his teeth back. She seemed to take it as a smile. She hooked her legs around his and crushed with her thighs, with enough force to hurt a normal man. 

“Good luck,” he panted. He pulled her legs apart, forcing one of her feet up to his shoulder. She laughed. “I’m not so easily bested.”

“You got me,” she admitted. Her hair fell around her face, stuck by sweat. “I guess you’re on top.”

Finally, finally, he braced his hand to her abdomen and slipped inside her. He held himself there, looking up at the ceiling. He was nothing but feeling, but instinct, but base sensation. He bit his lip.

_Women... _

He let his guard down. Dementia pushed herself off the ground with her hands, pushing Black Hat backwards until she was on top. She cackled and began to fuck him. The heady sounds of flesh and the creak of the floor under them drained his will to fight her for the privilege of leading. His hands found her hips and he groaned. 

“Give up?” 

“Yes.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Black Hat scowled. “You’ve got what you want, leave it.” 

She plummeted onto him. He stammered. 

“Say it,” she said. 

“Do that again and I’ll say whatever you want.”

She did. Black Hat groaned. 

“I give up,” he said. “I give up. You win. Do what you want to me but for the love of all that’s unholy, do it quickly!”

“It’s always the high-powered business types. You’re not used to people shoving you around, so the second somebody—”

“Must we talk? Must you congratulate yourself? Do you get off on infuriating—?” 

Dementia fluttered her dark eyelashes.

“Oh no,” he said. “You do."

She giggled. She dipped her head to his neck, slotted her teeth in the grooves between the scales and bit, hard. Black Hat pulled her closer, rearing back and letting out a loud, high moan, driving himself up to meet her. “You have teeth, don’t you? Bite as if you mean it.” 

She said something garbled. 

“For the last time you feckless idiot, you can’t hurt me, now hurry up!”

She slurred something, a hesitant ‘here goes’, braced her hands to his shoulders and clamped her jaws shut. Black Hat clawed irregular patterns into her back. He thought about carving something meaningful, erotic, letter by letter, but found he lacked the sense. Poetry was better suited to wooing rather than the act itself. He supposed if he did have the time to consider the ins and outs thoroughly he wasn’t having good sex. Sex rarely deserved the pomp the world seemed so intent to heap upon it. 

Dementia removed herself from his neck and slowly, slowly, worked her bra off. Dark blood smeared her lips. Black Hat beamed, gripping her back and stuffing his head between her breasts. 

_Women,_ on the other hand…

He pawed at her hips and squeezed her thighs and let out a desperate, disbelieving sort of laugh like he was the luckiest man alive. Her colours sank into one another, running streaks across her body. The blood-red of her bangs and the bile tint of her hair, the deep blue of her shirt and the white of her skin, the pink of her areola and the silver of her piercings. She dripped over him like liquid porcelain. It was getting hard to separate it all. Black Hat reared back, guiding her hips with his claws and letting it happen. 

“I knew I’d win!”

His eyes were clamped shut, his teeth grit until they hurt. “This,” he grunted, “isn’t— a— g—”

It hit him like an avalanche. He balled up his tie and shoved it in his mouth to stop himself yelling. The initial impact of his orgasm faded but she continued at the same pace until he began to burn. “Easy,” he hissed, “easy!”

She looked at him with a deranged, wide-eyed glee. Her eyes were fixed open, but they weren’t seeing him. He considered pushing her away. He couldn’t bear to see it. She rocked back and forth, her cries growing in volume until he was sure anyone in the manor could hear them.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—!”

She froze. Her mouth fixed open, her eyes squashed shut, a big, stupid smile plastered on her face. With a rush of air, she went slack. She moved to kiss him, but Black Hat missed the gesture to squeeze her ass again.

“I love you so, so much,” she breathed. “I always have. I love you so, so much. So much. So very, very much. I can’t live without you. If you left, I think I’d die of a broken heart. I adore you.”

Black Hat looked up at her. At her dewy eyes. At her hand, as she stroked his cheek. The sex was over and she was still here. Black Hat chewed his lip.

“Oh, geez,” Dementia murmured. “This sounds like I’m trying to guilt you. I’m really not! I’m really not, I swear, I’m just... I don’t— I don’t ever really get a chance to talk about this sort of stuff. Everyone thinks I’m stupid. I look at the stuff I do and... I think I’m pretty stupid, too. But this wasn’t. What we have isn’t. I wondered, deep down, if you didn’t really love—” 

The word caught in her throat. She coughed, hiding it and playing it off.

“Thanks for letting me hope,” she smiled. “Thanks for loving me back. Thanks for proving it to me.”

“We won’t be doing this again,” Black Hat said. 

“And that’s fine,” she replied. He squinted at her. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” Black Hat admitted.

“I love you,” she repeated. Her voice was low, warm, guttural, the purr of a happy cat. She wasn’t expecting an answer, but Black Hat felt himself speak anyway.

“I’m...” 

They were still connected. Black Hat felt the cold evidence of their union trickle down his thigh.

“There’s an en-suite,” he said. “I’m going to fetch a towel.” 

She raised her brows, then furrowed them. “Oh. Yeah, uh, sure. Of course. Lemme just—”

“If you could—”

“Yeah."

She slid unceremoniously off, loud and wet. Black Hat stood, holding up his pants with his hand, still exposed. He gestured towards the bathroom. “There’s a shower in here if you would like to—” 

“Do I have the time?” Dementia found her skirt, tossed under a nearby chair. “I’m on the clock, if the alarm goes I gotta bolt.”

“Given our... Circumstances, I’m sure I can allow you a break. But do you mind if I—?”

“No,” she said. “No, you can go first. Wait— no, damn, if I get called— this is a big house; where’s the nearest bathroom? I gotta get going.”

“Aside from this? A floor down. Middle stairwell, right, fifth door.”

She shuffled to the door, making a face and pulling at her skirt. “Thanks. I had fun,” she said. She waited for him to respond. He didn’t. Dementia exhaled. One long, quivering breath, and she clicked the door shut. Black Hat didn’t want to spend the time stripping off for the shower, elongating the experience. He dealt with the indignity of wiping off his cock with a cold wash-cloth over the sink. When he was finished he washed his hands and caught sight of himself in the mirror.

If love was, deep down, something people made up amongst themselves to justify the propagation of their species...

He looked at himself. He saw sleaze. He saw a user, he saw someone slimy, who stepped over everyone else to get what he wanted. He saw everything he normally saw and found, for the very first time, he didn’t like it. 

Why did he feel so terrible?

**Author's Note:**

> heehoo
> 
> wamen


End file.
